


sword & rose

by discountghost



Category: ATEEZ (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Choi San is Whipped, Festivals, Jongin knows how to use his sword, M/M, Mages, Prince!Jongin, Rituals, San is pretty, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Public Sex, Top!Jongin, Witch!San, Witches, author has no regrets, i meant that tag in every sense, prince!san
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: When Jongin is sent to tutor the youngest prince how to fight, he honestly wasn't expecting the prince to be that soft and shy.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Choi San
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71
Collections: Ultimate Top Kim Jongin Fic Fest 2019





	sword & rose

“What do you look so glum for?”

The question was posed simply. Not a hint of real interest and Jongin frowned a little harder at that. Or maybe it was a pout. He twirled the blade in his hands a moment longer before sighing again and looking up at Sehun. The other was flipping through the pages of some archaic tome on the history of the kingdom, searching for something Jongin didn’t really care about.

“I’m supposed to be tutoring the prince.”

Sehun’s brow rose, but his gaze remained on the book in front of him. “Oh, really? Is it a means to better relations?”

The treaty had been signed months ago between the two kingdoms, unifying them tentatively. An odd, dualistic sort of ruling had taken place and now Jongin found himself being paired with the youngest prince of their partner kingdom. His mother had  _ said _ it was supposed to be a goodwill gesture, since they seemed to remain on fairly minimal speaking terms.

“My parents want me to try and get along with him.”

Sehun grimaced, finally glanced up. “I don’t think that will go so smoothly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jongin frowned deeper, if that was even possible at this point, and sat up. 

“They want you to get along with a magic-oriented kingdom by teaching their youngest swordplay? Magic hasn’t exactly been well received here, you know.”

Of course, he knew. There had been a long and strained history between mages and their kingdom and the result had been their partner’s creation. Decades of mages migrating to a small village had turned them into a budding nation-state. Of course, Jongin only knew this because of the recent passing of laws that would regulate mages and their magic, as well as erasing a past genocide of magic-users.

Sehun himself had been a closeted-mage. His revelation came with a failed spell that had resulted in a doppelganger that had...less than friendly intentions with him. At least, as first. Now, though, Jongin wondered where Sehün could have gone off to. Last reports had seen him bounty hunting towards the fringes of their kingdom. He hoped the man liked what he was doing. But — the topic at hand.

“Yes, thank you so much for reminding me of why they would hate us in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t blame them if they thought that swordplay was inferior to their magic.”

“Wha— don’t be stupid. That’s not possible.”

Sehun blinked. “It is entirely possible that they could have taken siege of our capitol and then cursed our people until there were none left to defend you and your family.”

“Don’t spells like that take time?”

“Certainly. But there’s also different kinds of mages — witches, they call themselves. I’m sure there are plenty who are powerful enough that they wouldn’t need to wait.”

The crown prince swallowed. “Okay, so considering these mutated mages  _ could _ do such a thing, we still have advances that could be seen as magic themselves.”

“I didn’t take you for one to be so absolutely stupid, but you surprise me all the time.”

Before Jongin can get a rebuttal in, there was a knock on the study door. Baekhyun pushed the door open without waiting for a response. Behind him trailed a boy that bore the markings of a mage, or at least one of them. His cheeks were stained with gold tears, as if he had wept them himself rather than them having been seared into his skin. Brown hair curled slightly at the top of his head. He gave off an aura that didn’t match that of a servant and Jongin suspected that he might have been more than that.

The boy turned dark eyes over to him, and that was when Jongin noticed that he and Sehun shared one marking. His pupils had duplicated, but they glowed slightly brighter than Sehun’s. He swallowed, looked to Baekhyun for an answer to his silent question.

“Your Majesty,” the words dripped with mockery and Jongin took no offense, “Yeosang, one of the nobles, is here to escort you to the prince.”

The boy’s — Yeosang, he knew now — brow twitched, but he said nothing if anything offended  _ him.  _ Perhaps he was incapable of speech; he’d been told that some mages had given up their voices in favor of power. 

“He’s waiting in the garden.” Nope, that was a fully vocal mage. “He cannot stand the rest of the palace.”

It was blunt and to the point. Jongin...might have liked that. The crown prince pushed off the chair he’d lazed on for the past hour and followed after the mage as if he didn’t know where his own gardens were. He had to say that he much preferred the gardens himself; they held a number of excellent napping spots. The thud of their footfalls filled the halls as they moved, Jongin having stepped ahead to take charge and set the pace. If Yeosang could not keep up, he didn’t show or remark on it.

He wondered why the other remained so impassive, but not for too long. They took a turn, and the fragrances of the garden wafted over to him. Stronger than usual. The scent of flowers in abundance filled the long hall that lead to the gardens, more powerful with each step he took.

“That would be our prince’s doing. We apologize, but it is not something that he has been able to control.” The first tinge of anything other than a mask of immovable  _ nothing _ that Jongin saw from the other, and it was the slight furrow of his brow and sympathy that lingered in his tone. “Hopefully, it will be maintained soon enough.”

Jongin didn’t quite understand what the other was going on about. His head was full of flowers, the aromas stuffing themselves into his senses until it was all he could think about. He could practically taste them on his tongue. He flung open the door, taking the steps two at a time as he picked up his pace. Yeosang trailed after him, silent as a ghost, all but forgotten as Jongin stopped short.

There. In the midst of all the flowers. The mage that he was to tutor was anything but what he had expected. Jongin had seen the other members of the royal family before. They had a sleek sort of beauty to them, stretched by mutations and something that could be both divine and infernal, depending on how one looked at it. The boy was not much different, but he was  _ different. _

In his mind, it sounded as odd as it might aloud. The prince in his garden was as ethereal as the rest of his family. His features had not been marred — not noticeably — with the mutations of his magic. That is, until Jongin drew closer. He gave off the image of being soft, and Jongin might dare say that he was. The fierceness and danger the others of the royal family of mages gave off was lost with this one.

Jongin swallowed, ran his hands through his dark hair. This...changed things. He might find that he would enjoy enacting the grueling lessons that he had experienced in the past to be as skilled a swordsman as he was. A grin lit up his face as he approached the prince. The other mirrored his expression, and dimples accented the smile. He was reminded immediately of Yixing. But, he cast off the thought, lest one of them be a mindreader.

The prince stood, and that was when Jongin noticed what might have been a mutation. The roots pulled from the ground and the flowers clung to his skin as if that was where they belonged. The tendrils looped around his forearms as he stepped forward. Petals fell from his hair and brambles tangled in the strands. 

Jongin had never understood the nature of mutations. They were random, wild things. They made mages look like fantastical beings, far removed from the humans that they had supposedly transcended by bonding with magic. Some would be cosmetic, and others seeped so deep into the being of the mage that they altered them beyond their appearance. This one’s seemed to be more complicated than a simple flower blossoming on the skin.

“Hello.” The mage prince’s voice was only slightly deeper than he’d expected, his Elsiya accented. “You are the crown prince, yes? Jongin?”

Jongin didn’t know how formalities worked with mages, but a short flash of irritation went through him. There was too casual a means of address to someone of his status coming from a bastard kingdom of the cursed. And the prince — by blood? He wasn’t sure how royalty worked for them, but he had no doubt that it had something to do with the upheaval of previous powers as if they were barbarians — had done just that. 

“Yes.” Two could play that game. “You are?”

The other didn’t seem to mind. “San. Thank you very much for your help.” He bowed, and Jongin could see a small sprout on the crown of his head.

“No problem.”

They stood in silence for another beat until Yeosang spoke again. He’d forgotten that the man was even there. “His Majesty, Prince San was hoping that your tutelage would bring him some control, as I said earlier, to his fairly unruly abilities.”

San’s cheeks colored, not far off from the pink petals that fell to his shoulders. “I was told that you were a highly skilled swordsman. They say you ought to learn from the best.”

Maybe he did know a thing or two about how to converse with royals. Flattery was a sure way to work yourself into the good graces of a few. “And how does learning the blade make you any better with your magic?” Jongin cocked his head to the side, regarding the other further.

The crown prince of mages fidgeted with the flowers budding in his arms. Prodded at the stems and brushed his fingertips over the pollen swollen buds. “Discipline,” came his answer, finally. “I would teach me discipline and then I could learn control.” He paused, as if not sure if he should continue. “My magic is...unruly. And it’s very important that I don’t lose absolute control of it.”

It. A separate entity. Wasn’t their whole spiel that magic was a part of them? “Hm.” 

“I am very grateful for your help, truly.” San took several steps closer. His frame was lithe, small. The robes he’d seen that were common of mages would have swallowed him up. But he had been smart and dressed for the occasion. Trousers and a tunic just tight enough to be unrestrictive but not too loose to be obstructive.

But they wouldn’t be so active today. “Yes, well, you might not like my help by the time I’m done with you.” Jongin turned to face Yeosang, the man gazing back at him expectantly. “You can go now.”

The noble blinked before bowing and shuffling backward, swallowed up by the foliage as he made his exit. Jongin hadn’t noticed it growing around them to that extent. It wasn’t dissimilar from a cocoon, but it was just as disconcerting. He grunted, pulled at a branch to test how thick it was. Rays of light streamed through, brightening the space further. Not so thick.

“We’re doing nothing today.” 

“Pardon?” He felt the mage prince’s gaze on him as he inspected the rest of the plants.

“We do nothing.” Jongin finally turned to look at the mage, expression not far from bored. “If you truly mean to learn anything, you must first learn about yourself.” He struggled to hold a straight face. At best, he could spend a few days messing with the prince to get a feel of him, and then maybe he would find some other means of toying with him. 

Jongin didn’t take this seriously. Why should he? They would be at war and then there would have been no point in this. He knew the ways of his father and how easily his pride might be bruised. One wrong word, and they would find themselves in a very different position, and the mages would know better than to have opposed them. 

San nodded, eager. His hair bobbed with his head and he stood at the ready, arms pressed at his side. Playing soldier. Jongin sighed. 

“Relax.” He took a step closer, settled his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “No need for all that stiffness.”

The mage prince flushed, nodded again. He was a pretty one, but — so was the rest of his family. Despite all their mutations, of course. San smiled once more, dimples popping out. He brushed the strands of hair that had fallen into his face back. A portion of it was a white not unlike that of a dandelion puff, while the rest of it was a startling black. It offset the earthy brown of his eyes. Maybe if they were meeting in a different situation he would be kinder. 

But they weren’t. “Just sit.”

“You had him sitting for how long?” 

Sehun didn’t sound as amused as Jongin thought he might.

Jongin shrugged. “When I left him, I told him to remain until it was dark out.”

“You just left him there.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sitting.”

“Mhm.”

Sehun sighed. “He must think highly of you to have listened. The gardeners supposedly had to cut him out.”

Maybe Jongin choked back a laugh. Maybe he just let it happen. The prince fell back against the lounge chaise he’d been sitting on. Mirth rattled through him as he laughed and Sehun watched on, unamused. Of course, he wouldn’t find this funny. Jongin was supposed to be making a diplomatic gesture, and yet he was playing mindless pranks. Sehun’s frown deepened as the prince righted himself. He wiped fake tears from his eyes and held his sides as if he might fall apart with his laughter.

Sehun cleared his throat. “It really is not that funny, your Highness.”

“Maybe it is to me.” He shrugged, relaxed as the last tremors of laughter left him.

“This is serious.” The mage gripped his seat, closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. “If they think that you’re merely playing with the prince, they won’t take kindly to it. They’ll think you’re taking him for a joke or a play thing and I don’t think you want to know what happens when you scorn a mage like that.”

Jongin watched as Sehun swallowed. The steady way he tried to compose himself. He didn’t see what the big deal was; it was all but a bit of fun. The prince had not been hurt by his actions. He knew as much because there was no message of him not coming to their lesson today. He turned his head to the window, stared out at the grassy fields that lay beyond the window.

A creeping sensation took him. The grass moved like water, just beyond the walls that lined the palace. They’d brought the walls in closer as a precaution. He could still see the dips in the ground where the former walls had been. They had built it up fast; but that was a given. He turned back to Sehun, saw him staring.

“What?”

“Can you please, perhaps, try to be a bit more cordial today? At least give him the lesson that he was promised.”

Jongin huffed as he stood. The plain shirt and trousers he’d dressed himself in would make the training for the day easy. The mage should know that he intended to be serious now. As much as his actions and instructions had been a joke, they had been a test. And the prince had passed, unfortunately.

When he entered the garden, it was to much the same image he had seen before. A wall of foliage surrounding the mage as he lay in the grass, waiting. But he was clothed different. Jongin wondered if this was supposed to be the leisure dress of mages. The mage prince lay back in the grass, his boots black and up past his ankle. That wasn’t right. He wouldn’t be able to move about well in them. His legs, mostly, were uncovered up to his thighs, where soft-looking fabric rest over his skin. It wasn’t that off from the color of his skin. A light peach color, and thin. A tunic just barely covered the soft flesh of his stomach as he stretched, vines lacing under it to scratch at his stomach. Some coiled down around his boots and cradled his head.

San’s shifting in the grass was the only sign that he was still breathing and he wasn’t posed as if to be buried. He rolled over, breathed out a soft sigh. The fabric of his tunic hiked up further and maybe Jongin stared a little harder at the skin revealed to him. He looked a bit like an angel might, if he cared for such things.

Jongin cleared his throat and crossed to San, nudged the mage prince with his foot. “Wake up, lazybones. You’ve a lesson today, or did you forget?”

San jolted awake, cheeks dusted red as he took in the state of himself. Petals fell from his hair as he got up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. The mage smiled then, seemed to forget the drool on his chin. Jongin snorted, but said nothing as the other’s brows furrowed in question. 

“Today, you’ll be holding a sword.” He regarded the other’s reaction carefully. His expression brightened and maybe his face lit up with the power of the sun. Jongin didn’t think much of it until the other was practically launching himself towards him. He held out a hand and stopped San in his tracks. “A wooden sword.”

“Okay!” San nodded with great vigor, shook petals from his hair with his excitement. 

Truthfully, Jongin could relate to this excitement. He had been that way when he’d first learned to use a weapon. But he suspected the reasons behind the excitement were a bit different.

San stepped back, gave the other prince space. Jongin drew the wooden sword at his hip and turned it over to the other. Slender fingers clutched at the proffered hilt, wrapped around it as easily as a vine did around a tree. No sooner had the contact had been made did a flower blossom where at the edge of where the blade would be. San smiled sheepishly, brows furrowed as he concentrated on making the flower wilt. It almost seemed to pain him to do so. 

The growth brown, shriveled up as it fell off the sword. Jongin watched with raised brows. No one had made mention that the mage was capable of reversing his abilities. He regarded the other with caution. Could it be applied to  _ all _ living things? He didn’t much like the idea of that, or his abilities as they stood already. He cleared his throat to draw San’s attention back to him.

“Now, shall we begin?” He drew his own sword, though this one was real. He remembered quite fondly his own first lesson going the same way. “You can try attacking me first.” Not that he would land a hit.

The lesson ended much the way Jongin had thought it might: San on his hands and knees, drenched in sweat. The thin fabric of his clothing clung to his skin. His hair flopped, dripped the sweat from his forehead and neck. Jongin circled him, a little less disheveled. The mage prince had  _ tried, _ but not enough to land a single hit. The wooden sword was battered, deep cuts in some portions of it. It probably wouldn’t have held out for much longer without breaking.

Dandelions weakly tilted towards the prince, as if to offer some solace. Jongin scoffed, trampled over one.

“C’mon; get up.” The goading in his voice didn’t seem to do anything, so he stepped on another dandelion. He watched San wince, curl his fingers through the grass until his nails bit into dirt. “You can do better than that.”

“I can’t.” So soft that Jongin thought he might have misheard. San sniffed and Jongin sighed. No use in pushing him this early if he would break down.

He held out his hand for the other take. San’s hands were slick with sweat and dirt. He used his free hand to wipe the sweat from his face and succeeded in smearing dirt across his forehead. His eyes were glassy and he was only just catching his breath. He dropped his gaze to the dandelion that had been trampled underfoot and seemed to stifle yet another sob. Jongin rolled his eyes, but made sure to avoid the rest as he guided the prince toward the garden exit.

“You need to get cleaned up; you stick like a barn now.” Which wasn't entirely wrong. “A nice soak will help your muscles. You’ll be very sore tomorrow.” He hesitated a moment, brows furrowed. San was soft, feeble almost. “You did well.” He could do with the encouragement.

The mage prince’s face took a red hue, not too far off from the red flowers of the garden. Jongin didn’t remember what their names were, and he didn’t care too much. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention. Really — don’t.” Jongin grinned and San looked away, but a small bloom in his hair opened up. 

He had questions. He  _ a lot _ of questions. Jongin still wasn’t too certain about what the prince had wanted to learn swordplay for, and to be frank — he didn’t think he’d be any good at it. It was usually these first couple of lessons that determined how well one would do, and even if Jongin had given him slight encouragement, it didn’t mean that he would actually do better going forward.

That, and he didn’t seem to have the constitution for it. For something else, maybe; just not swordplay. His eyes narrowed as he observed the prince as he picked at the grass stains on his clothes and the petals stuck between the fabric.

“Why did you want to learn how to use a sword?” It left him before he had the chance to stop himself. He really  _ didn’t _ care. Their peace would sort itself, and he wouldn’t have to have any real interaction with the other prince, restricted to official gatherings if he had his way. “You don’t need it.”

San nodded, shrugged. “I don’t. But my brother — Yoojin. He’s...very good with a sword. I wanted. I wanted to be like him? He’s so...extraordinary. Mother praises him often for his skill.” He fumbled with the hem of his tunic, turned the simply embroidered hem inward and outward. “He is — very skilled. And he has his magic under control.”

Jongin tried to remember what the elder prince performed magically. He squinted with his concentration. “They did say they thought it would help with your discipline.”

“Yes! I think...if I’m able to be like my brother, or you, I could have better control.” His cheeks reddened. Jongin didn’t focus too much on his inclusion, not liking the way his heart stuttered.

“Like the way you made that flower wither?”

San looked up then, blinked. He watched a range of emotions flit over the other’s features; the prince wasn’t very good at controlling that, either. “I don’t like doing that.”

“Then, why do it?”

“Because, I thought you might say that it would get in the way.”

“I don’t think that flower would have changed the outcome of today’s lesson.”

Redder still, his cheeks went. “You’re right. They pop up a lot when I get excited.”

“Or embarrassed.” Jongin observed. He walked on, glanced back at San. “Are you coming or not?”

Confusion crossed the other’s face before he hobbled forward to catch up. Jongin winced; the soreness was probably already setting in for him. Dirt and grass clung to his bare legs, smeared along the expanse of skin as if he’d been playing in it. There were several spots where his knees were skinned; Jongin would need to see to those. While Jongin was less of a mess, he did enjoy a leisure soak after a round of sparring. Not that what they did today could even be considered that.

“Let’s have a bath, then.”

Bathing had never been much a private act for Jongin.

Most of the time, it was followed by a flock of young serving boys who were stationed to help him reach his back, hand him a lump of thickly scented soap, and to douse him with water if he so wanted it. When he’d hit the year of three and ten — he’d put a stop to it. But, there was still the insistence that someone should be there, lest something happen to him. Which was why he had to walk past the ever-present Jongdae. The other’s brows rose, the hint of a smile on his lips as he turned to watch them go. 

He walked on without a word.

The sloping arches of the royal bath hung over the pair. He glanced back to see San looking about in a muted awe; wide eyes and quivering lips that fought to keep from parting. The mage must surely have accommodations like these in his kingdom. But, then, he noticed where his gaze flickered to. The mirrors that lined the walls reflected much of the room. Multiple reflections of the pair stared back at him with the angle the mirrors faced one another. Different iterations with each angle. A limb looked longer where the images intersected, and some were coated in fog from the rising steam of the circular pool in the middle of the room.

San seemed most startled by Jongin pulling his shirt over his head. That was when his lips fell apart, gaze darting to his feet as his cheeks reddened.

“What? Are you not going to wash?” Jongin nodded his head toward the other, who fumbled with the little buttons on his tunic.

San struggled so much that eventually Jongin felt the prince needed help. He crossed the short distance to him, the strings holding his trousers in place loosened. They rested on his hips loosely, his hand outstretched. San froze as Jongin turned him around, undid the impractically placed buttons. The fabric was softer than he’d suspected. Cotton? He slid his fingers over it a moment, before pulling up the tunic unceremoniously. A small yelp sounded from the shorter prince, momentarily blinded.

Soon enough, he was free of the fabric and maybe Jongin stared a little longer than he needed to. His skin was not as dark as his own, but almost the color of a newborn fawn’s hide. But that was not what drew his attention. Little flowers sprouted at his shoulder blades, pressed against the faint outline of the bone against his skin. Like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. The petals seemed to move with his twitching, followed the pattern of his movements. At the nap of his neck were root-like appendages that seemed to curl into his skin. He hazarded touching one. It flinched away from him just as San spun around. 

“I can — I can do the rest myself.”

His blush had settled all the way down to his chest. Jongin shrugged, hid the faintest of smirks by ducking his head as he turned and finished undressing himself.  Steam clogged the room as Jongin moved toward the bath. The waters were dark and rippled only slightly. He dipped a foot in, sucking in a breath at the warmth of it. He lowered himself down, sank until his shoulders were submerged. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he let the warmth of the warm spread into his body. It was still for a moment, before he heard the sound of someone else getting in. The water splashed up as San got in, an eye cracking open to glance in the direction of the other prince.

San was slight of frame, but not overly slender. A small waist that he wondered if he might be able to fit his hands around. He closed his eye again. It wasn't a thought that he cared much for at the moment.

"Feel better?"

He heard the other draw out a shaky exhale. "Yes."

Water splashed as the other must have begun rubbing soap over his skin, scrubbed away the grime. The bath would be emptied, drained through the small plug at the bottom. Jongin could feel it brush against his foot if he moved slightly. He let his eyes lift open, expression relaxed as he turned his head to look at the other. The root-like things he had seen earlier had drawn closer to his scalp. They shrinked away from the water.

"It's...too warm for them." San murmured, answering the question that Jongin had not asked.

"Is that your mutation?"

For a moment, the mage prince looked confused. Then, brows knit together, he responded easily with, "Yes, I suppose."

They fell back into silence, San scoring the dirt from his skin until the flesh was pink with his efforts. Jongin didn't quite understand why he was scrubbing so hard; didn't his powers or realm of magic deal with the Earth? He should be elated to be filthy as a pig.

"You'll scrub your skin off."

San flushed. "I won't."

Jongin shrugged, didn't argue. Instead, his gaze turned once more to the prince's figure, hidden by the murkier water. Maybe he really  _ wasn't _ one accustomed to much physical activity. He was small; maybe prone to sickness. It would explain why they seemed to shelter him so much more, supposedly. If he recalled, the older siblings had all been sent on diplomatic trips; one was even on a front line. The oldest? He screwed his eyes shut. He didn't care. He just needed to know these things.

"My brother...said that he would like to see you when given the chance." He sounded nervous to say it, as if his brother might apparate out of thin air. Jongin wouldn't put it past him being able to. "You'll be seeing him at the festival."

That had him jolting forward. San gasped, knocked back into the bath wall. "Festival? What festival?" He'd been told of no such thing. He was not participating in any festival, either. He'd never been one for those, and even if he did attend, it was only to watch the jousting and sparring that took place.

San merely blinked at him, still shocked by his sudden reaction.

Sehun didn't seem bothered that Jongin had stormed into the library in search of him with hair still sopping wet. He didn't seem bothered even as he loomed over the mage and let the water drip from his head to the pages of the book in front of him. The mage turned his head to look at Jongin with about as much care as a tired dog watched children run about.

"Was anyone going to tell me that there was going to be a festival?"

"Perhaps you should have considered drying off more thoroughly; you'll fall ill like that." Sehun tsked, turned his attention back to the tome in front of him as Jongin sank into the chair beside him. "And if you really must know, it was your mother's idea. Good relations. Everyone is attending, not just you."

"I hardly think that'll be safe."

"Which is why we're trusting our host kingdom to be wise and consider what would happen if they attempted to take the life of a royal of a neighboring kingdom." He flipped a page, stared boredly at the words.

"Why are we taking risks like this?"

"So that we may not take far greater risks in the future." Sehun sighed, closed the book and finally put his full attention to the prince. "This isn't a punishment, your Highness. This is them trying to keep things peaceful. As much as you love your war games, you should be ready to accept when diplomacy is needed."

"But this isn't a game--"

"The king and queen are aware of that. They would not do foolish things with you, their heir, involved. They know the consequences of a mistake at a time like this, as well. You should follow  _ that _ example in how you deal with the prince."

Jongin slouched down in the chair, huffed as he flicked a wet hair from his face.

"So, how are you getting along with the prince?"

Jongin shrugged, unable to commit to a real answer. They weren't friends. They were acquaintances, at best. "Fine."

"Fine?"

" _ Fine. _ "

"That doesn't sound too good if we're going based on how you see 'fine'."

Jongin squinted. "He's...blushy. Eager? I don't get it."

Sehun hummed, but said nothing.

"If you know something, then say it."

"I'm sure you'll find out at the festival."

With a huff, Jongin pushed his chair back and stomped out of the library much the same as he had entered it.

San’s brother was annoying.

He sat at the long table, glancing down at his food. The platters of vegetables and meat — venison, duck, a roast that he swore still moved — were appetizing enough, but he couldn’t help the unease bubbling in his stomach as he stared at the spectacle across from him. The other crowned prince sat with his brother, the picture of happiness. And being absolutely spoiled. If he had to watch Prince Yoojin dote on his brother as though he were some small dog performing a new trick, he might vomit all over the table.

Yoojin was almost the opposite to his brother. He held the devastating looks that the rest of the family had, though his hair was a stark white with a portion of deep black to contrast his brother. Jongin could see the resemblance most prominently in the eyes and smile, though Yoojin’s twisted up wryly. He lifted a jewel-cluttered hand to pat San’s head, to which the crown prince had to roll his eyes. They were insufferable. It grew worse as the meal progressed.

He looked up in time to see Yoojin attempting to feed San, holding out a sliver of duck on a fork. The younger was too preoccupied with what was already in his mouth, chewing slowly and delicately. The dinner had been the first thing they did; Jongin and his family had been ushered into the dining room, where the mages were already seated. Posed in waiting to begin the feast that would mark their week-long festival.

Yoojin shifted on the bench, turned so he was mostly facing his brother.

“San, you’re such a messy eater.”

San blushed, covered his mouth with his hand. His pretty fingers were lined with white stones and chains that linked them together. How could he even eat with those on? But he seemed to have little qualm with picking pieces of the duck with his fingers, juice sliding down the digits as he did so. He tapped them on the bread plate to let the juice run back and then dipped them into the bowl of water set beside him. He’d done so the whole night, and as much as it already pained him, Jongin would have to agree that he  _ was _ a messy eater.

“I’m sorry.” San’s gaze flickered over to Jongin as he spoke, ducking his head. The blossoms on his head closed.

Yoojin chuckled, flicked a bud on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s cute, but don’t let Mother see you.”

At the mention of the queen, Jongin’s gaze darted down the table. He was startled to find that the angular planes of her face — the cheekbones and jaw sharp enough to perhaps best a sword — were marred by a  _ smile _ of all things. He was too far down to hear her laughter, but she said something to his mother and she laughed in turn. 

He huffed, turned back in time to see San staring at him. The other might have gasped and looked away, face burning. The corner of Jongin’s lips twitched. He didn’t have long to bask in the embarrassment; the other prince was on him, something eager in his eyes. 

“My brother says you’re quite skilled with your sword.” Yoojin cocked his head to the side, grin turned sly with the angle. Jongin nearly choked on the insinuation. 

“He says the same of you.” He wasn’t sure if that was much of a counter, but the prince’s lips twitched and San placed a hand on his brother’s arm.

San’s voice was soft, but warning.  _ “Yoojin.” _

“Does he now? But — I would like to see that what he’s saying is true.” The prince leaned in and San’s grip tightened, almost desperate as if to keep him from nearly falling into his empty plate.

Their conversation broke only as the next course of their meal was brought out. Yoojin leaned back, eyes never leaving Jongin. A steaming stew slathered into bowls of bread, over their tops and dripping down the flaky, crispy sides. He inhaled, finally broke eye contact with the other prince as San forcibly put one bread bowl on his brothers plate. His cheeks were a deep red as he focused on his own bowl, dipping the bowl top into the stew and scooping out chunks of meat.

Jongin followed his lead, glanced up to be certain of what he was doing. Sweetness burst on his tongue. The meat was tender and tore apart easily in his mouth, almost as if it had melted. He slurped up some more of the stew, looked again to San. He was nearly half way through his own bowl of stew.

Yoojin didn’t seem as invested in his meal. In fact, he disregarded the cooling bread bowl of stew to focus on Jongin. “Truly, I just can’t hand my brother to  _ anyone. _ That would be wrong of me as a brother, wouldn’t it?”

_ “Brother.” _

San exasperation was accented with a pout; cute. His eyes lighted on the way his fingers had curled into a fist, vines curling around his digits. His brother must have made a habit of being infuriating.

“I see no qualms in a duel.” Jongin shrugged and he felt Sehun dig his elbow into his side. “It is a festival, after all.”

Yoojin blinked, chuckled. “Wonderful.Maybe you could consider it after the dance.”

“Dance?” Were there no end to the things he would be made to do? His eyes lighted on San, who fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves. The white lace around his wrist was loose enough that he could put his finger between the fabric and the skin.

“Were you not going to be San’s partner?” There was a thud and Yoojin flinched, but didn’t waver in his gaze toward Jongin. “What a shame.” At this, he turned to San. “Maybe Euijin has a chance now, yes?”

The deep red seemed to reach down to the high collar that rose over San’s neck. He wondered how constrictive it might be, but with the way his shoulders were exposed, he supposed it might be enough to allow breathing. Before San could say anything, lips red as a cherry parting to speak, something like a bell sounded.

“That’ll be it, then.” Yoojin stood to his feet, black robes sleek over his frame. He helped his brother up, who wore white to his black and Jongin wondered if they played up on opposites a lot. 

Yoojin pulled back his robes to reveal an ornate ensemble of black and silver. A deep black vest inlaid with silver designs that seemed to move with him — no doubt his own sort of magic — tucked neatly into black pants. His boots shone like his jewelry, with the faintest reflection of the light, as if it ate everything up.

Where Yoojin was darkness, San seemed to exude light. Or well, he wore white. Lots of it. The same lacy patterns he’d seen the mage wear to their second lesson. Shoulders bore to the world, save the tendrils of flowers that crept up, his sleeves billowed and tapered. The careful in-lay of flowers and jewels that mimicked their color littered his clothing. A short train ran behind him, removed easily by Yoojin to reveal a window in the fabric to the smooth planes of San’s back. The flower he’d seen before were smaller now, though not as pressed down. 

But what threw Jongin off from this attire was the skirt. Fabric that stopped around his feet, a slit of thigh revealed. Jongin must have stared because Yoojin snorted and San turned his head, but couldn’t hide the raging blush that continued on his face. Jongin’s own cheeks burned and he shifted in his seat.

The mages seemed to float back as the wall that had supposedly been there faded into the image of a field. It was even complete with the chirping of birds and the rush of a breeze. Grass rubbed against fabric and skin as the mages walked through them. Chatter buzzed in the air with the fat little bees that stumbled around the few flowers scattered about. Then they quieted, a stillness coming over the bunch.

Jongin glanced around, and found that the whole of the room had turned into the field. Where the band stood was a grove of trees. They leaned against the bark or stood under the shade of leaves as they awaited a signal. The prince looked back to the mages, now gathered in a zigzagged sort of pattern. The group inhaled as one, then let out pleasant sighs together. A chorus of voices of varying octaves falling together. Then the music picked up, a lively peace that carried a note of sensuality. 

He didn’t know how he should feel, or react. But his gaze was stuck to the way San moved. His expression had changed so quickly. The bashfulness he’d shown before was replaced with a sort of serenity. A daze had come over him, almost. Eyes looking far-off as he stared down his partner. Down was the right word to use, as San wore something like boots with heels that added to his height. He might have already been taller than the other mage, but it didn’t seem to deter either of them.

The mage dancing with San held his waist with ease, drew him closer with each dance. They raised hands above their heads and spun around each other before they joined again, closer this time. The bodice that cinched San’s already slim waist brushed against the other’s torso with how close they came, the mage’s lips parting. The flowers that seemed plaster to the man’s skin tilted towards San, smiles exchanged as they parted and spun once more.

They bowed deep this time, surged back up to nearly collide. Legs tangled together as they moved like a beast with more legs than it needed. Heat rose up Jongin’s neck as he watched the way the fabric slid from San’s legs, revealing skin when it lifted as he spun. The other mage — a man with hair that resembled mint, if not considerably lighter and fading into a blonde — placed his fingers on the small of San’s back, eliciting a soft gasp that Jongin saw rather than heard. His hand was firm there just as Jongin’s gripped at his seat’s, leaning in time with the mage.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered something. It burned his throat and soured his meal. But he wouldn’t name. He  _ refused. _ He’d come to see San as entertaining, no doubt, but there was an edge of something else to it that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He’d felt it before (when he’d been stupid and had only just met Baekhyun; his personality had ruined the prospect of it being anything other than a tentative friendship that turned into him feeling something like family), but he doubted he could feel it for the mage prince. There was simply no way.

And yet, there he was, at the edge of his seat with anticipation as San cheeks colored again. But it was for a reason other than his brother’s teasing. His eyes fluttered as the other mage pulled him in again, a slow drag into a crouch and then back upright before they parted. The sound of breathing soon filled the field, both ragged and smooth. But mostly ragged. The first moan broke from someone far down the line of dancers, going limp slightly in their partner’s arms. Jongin’s jaw clenched as he looked to the side, before his gaze zipped back to San and his partner. Faces were pressed into the crooks of necks as they slowed their dance to get in close. The grind of bodies against one another had Jongin’s pulse singing in his veins. He turned his head to the side, even less sure if he wanted to watch anymore.

Couples began to drop like flies. Writhing masses of bodies that slotted themselves together and seemed to hump like animals in undergrowth. If not for the high grass, then Jongin would have seen it all. But it wasn’t what he was most focused on. Sweat had collected at San’s neck, hair clinging to his skin. His movements were clumsy now, less sure. His partner was not far off.

They continued, down to three couples as they seemed to amble through the steps. One more deep bow and quick shove into each other — the last two couples fell. One man groaned loudly as he rolled over onto his back, limbs wide. Yoojin sank to his knees before his partner, a grin on his face as he breathed heavily. The long haired woman that came to her own knees to meet him seemed to return his grin before they, too, were hidden by the grass.

It left San and his partner standing, leaning on each other for support. The man laughed first, then San with his little giggles. Applause sounded in the grass and tentatively from the watching audience. Sehun’s clapping was firm beside him, and he was aware of his advisor’s gaze on him. 

“I supposed you’ll be wanting to know what that all was.”

“Yes.” He ground the word out, reached for his goblet for some sort of way to lessen the thrumming going through his body. No sooner had it touched his lips did he get his answer. 

“It’s a fertility ritual. The dancers must endure a sort of...touching until they can’t.” Sehun took a sip from his own goblet, unperturbed. “The winners are generally seen as most virile.”

“I don’t really see how that works given they’re two men.”

Sehun’s lips twitched, but he didn’t remark on the statement itself. Not out of, “Is that...bitterness I hear in your voice?”

“Not in the slightest.” There might have been more bite to it than necessary. “What else happens after this then?”

“Usually, the couples would then go and relieve themselves, but since we’re here, I suspect they’ll find a means to deal with that in a less conventional way.” 

Another shrug from Sehun, just as the mages begin to appear from in the grass. The massive hall they’d been in before did not return to its previous state; had that been an illusion the whole time? And he was only now seeing the truth of where they were?

San returned to the table, skin slick with sweat and steps unsure. He wobbled slightly as he settled back onto the long bench. The flowers at his shoulders had spread wider; new buds had blossomed. He dabbed at his forehead with a napkin and maybe Jongin’s breath caught in his throat. 

He’d thought it before: San  _ was _ a pretty one. 

Pretty enough that it was unsettling to call him pretty. Like the word itself fell short. He blinked, frowned. Other words wouldn’t work for him, either. A rush of frustration hit him; at his own thoughts and the feelings he  _ didn’t _ want to acknowledge. The mage prince wiped more sweat from his chin, breathed deep a few times as he caught his breath around gaspy giggles. His partner leaned in and whispered something to him. Another wisp of a laugh, a lingering glance sent to Jongin before the mage was out of his seat again.

Yoojin plopped down just as San got up, the younger prince’s fingers loosely linked with his partner’s. “Ah, so Euijin managed it.”

“Managed what?”

Yoojin’s brows rose. “What do you think?” He chuckled. Jongin wanted to knock the smug look from his face. “Now that my brother is...occupied, what say we have a duel?” His voice picked up at the last bit, calling the attention of the others at the table. Jongin’s father seemed to bristle, as if the challenge had been made to him.

His father’s voice boomed, even if he didn’t quite yell. “I don’t see why we can’t have a duel.”

“No, no reason not to.” The mage queen seemed impassive, blinking once as she turned her gaze to her son. “Should be quite the entertainment to follow our meal.”

They set them to duel in the same part of the field that the mages had danced in. Jongin held some apprehension, eyes narrowed at the ground as he walked. Sword at his hip, he glanced over to Yoojin. The other seemed excited, but smug. Like he’d already won the duel. The other prince dared to look at him, grin widening as he sped up.

They stood at a bit of distance from the rest of the party. Yoojin’s own weapon of choice looked to be a rapier; he hadn’t seen one of those in some time. It would make it hard for Jongin to get in close. But it would not be an impossibility. The longsword he chose was slightly heavier; a speed disadvantage. But it gave him momentum and weight to work with. 

“I’m sure by this point you two know what the standard rules are.” The pair nodded as Jongin’s father spoke. “First to lay a hit scores a point. Five points to win.” He felt a glare leveled his way. His throat tightened up. Normally the pressure would not be so much, but here in the presence of his father — and in front of San’s family to whom he apparently had something to prove — it was a monumental weight on his shoulders.

“You may begin.”

The two princes bowed, regarded each other carefully. Yoojin started the circling, one hand behind his back and rapier tipped upward. Jongin’s own grip was two-handed, sword lined up with his opponent as they each put one foot in front of the other as they went. It was a few tense seconds of this before Yoojin dove at him, leading their would-be dance. He lunged forward as Jongin sidestepped, metal brushing against metal. The swords sang as they met, Jongin letting his grip slacken to drop the sword over the other’s rapier. But it let Yoojin get in close. Close enough smack his chin up with his elbow, gaining the first hit.

“This isn’t some tavern brawl.” He could just barely hear his father hiss out the statement, and the mage queen’s answering reply.

Another impassive look, and then — “I guess our rules are different. One point to Prince Yoojin.”

Jongin’s jaw clenched as they reset. His teeth ached, but only minimally. It had not been a hard enough hit to knock teeth out, but enough to hurt. He glared at Yoojin, who tittered happily as he swung his rapier. The two rolled shoulders and necks as they circled one another again. It was Jongin who took the lead.

Maybe he should not have. He didn’t know his enemy well. The prince allowed him in close, something he realized too late. Even as he stepped back, rocked away on the balls of his feet, he was too late. One moment the prince was there, the next he was not. A blink, then sharp pain at the back of his head that had him stumbling forward. Jongin spun around, only to be met with a wide grin on the other’s face. So that was his magic.

That was how their duel progressed. Jongin did put up a valiant effort — he managed to score two points; one for knocking Yoojin off his feet and another for planting his boot square on the other’s chest — but he lost. By the time they were through, he sported an eye that would soon swell shut and a split lip. Not  _ too _ bad, given the circumstances.

Yoojin twirled his rapier as he was declared winner, and bowed deep toward their audience. Frustration hit him in waves. It burned within him, but that fire was soon chilled as he caught his father’s eye. The king ws furious, and that immediately made Jongin simmer down. The last thing he needed to do was act like a petulant child.

“If you want to get that looked at, I have no qualms taking you to the infirmary.” Yoojin might have extended the offer cordially, but the smugness remained. No; maybe it had even doubled. “It’d be no trouble.”

“I think I can find it myself if you point me in the right direction.” He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten the words out with how tightly his jaw was clenched.

Yoojin shrugged and gave him fairly vague directions — “Two lefts, a right. It’s hard to miss.” — and then he was off. Jongin could still feel the thrum of irritation as he stalked off. A breeze blew, turning the grass into a land bound sea. He allowed his mind to wander, everything else blocked out. The first thing his mind went to? The mage prince that had not been present for his duel. Which was just as well, because it meant that San would not have witnessed his defeat at the hands of Yoojin. A fresh wave of humiliation hit him.

San had said he’d looked up to him. Admired him? Maybe not in those words, but he’d implied it. He’d only known the mage prince for some weeks; two months and three days, if he was keeping an accurate record of it. He sniffed, glanced around as he trudged to his destination. He wasn’t  _ in love _ with the mage prince. That — he would deny. An infatuation, maybe. He would allow that now. Given he had just fueled San’s brother with a slight ulterior motive of hoping to impress the family. 

He didn’t think he was hearing right when the soft sigh reached him on the breeze. It could have very easily just been the wind. He wanted to think it was the wind, but as he drew closer to the infirmary, the sighs were louder. Like a dream, he felt himself lurch forward in a haze of curiosity. There was familiarity in the little breathy moans, a soft whine that he knew from the lessons with the mage prince. He stopped at the cloth that kept him from inside the tent. The breeze whipped by. 

In a sense, he had known what to expect. San disappearing with his partner, Euijin, to somewhere secluded had been on his mind. What Jongin had not expected was for the mage prince to be almost suspended in the air, held by tendrils of roots — no, vines? — to where the tips of his boots barely brushed against the grass. His hands were pressed to his sides where the vines wrapped around his middle, mouth busy around the vines working into his throat. The vines glimmered in the faint light that filtered in; they must be wet with something.

“Oh, look, he finally showed up.” Jongin had been paying much attention to the other mage, so concentrated on San, but the man spoke up and drew his focus. It was much like his flesh was made of something other than, well,  _ flesh. _ His skin had taken on a faintly green tone, like the murky waters of a pond. He leaned over the mage prince, seemed almost to melt over him. Goopy flesh oozing over the mage prince. San whimpered, sucked down on the vines in his mouth a little harder. “I think the plan worked.”

Plan? It was uncomfortably warm, and his clothes felt all the more constricting. San’s skirts had been hiked up, his bodice opened; the ties from it dangled where the vines did not hold them. His legs trembled, strained to touch the ground. His mouth was left vacant, another whine sounding from him as he attempted to bite down on them. They dripped with spit and moved to coil around the mage prince.

Even with his mouth free, San seemed unable to form anything close to a coherent sentence, brows furrowed with his concentration. Though, Jongin could understand; it would be hard to focus with tendrils prodding at his cock, curling around it with ease. Jongin wasn’t sure if San was slick with sweat or if it was a secretion from the vines; the fabric of his dress dripped the mystery substance and clung to his skin.

“He wanted to make you jealous.” Euijin shrugged, gave San’s ass a swat. A yelp followed. “The brat.” The mage’s grin was fond as he watched the other. But his attention was soon back to Jongin. “You jealous yet?”

Jongin swallowed, gaze trained on San. If that lick of heat in his gut was anything to go by, he might say that he was jealous. That he’d been jealous, even, of Yoojin with how close he seemed to the mage prince. He was most definitely jealous of Eujin, draped over San now. Skin to skin. His throat felt drier than it had been a moment prior, like someone had stuffed a shirt down his throat.

Rather than speak, he nodded. Rooted to the spot, he nodded with such vigor he felt like his head might wobble off. San sobbed piteously as the vines set him down and retreated in favor of focusing on Jongin. The mage prince slumped to his feet, eyes glassy as he gazed over at Jongin.

“You can say no, if you don’t want this.” Euijin watched him carefully, vines waiting just behind him. “San would probably tell you the same if he could string words together.”

“He...he wants this?” Jongin only glanced in the other mage’s direction, brows furrowing.

Euijin nodded. “It was his plan, after all.” A wry smile lit up his expression before he continued. “I can’t help, but feel used. He asked for my help, knowing how I felt. Maybe that was why he asked me to begin with.” He sighed. “If we’re in agreement, then.” He turned his gaze to San.

It seemed to dawn on the mage prince that this was reality; his hands flew to cover himself. Jongin would have laughed in any other situation, called it endearing. He might have even held a hand out to the other, if not for the vines undoing his trousers and letting his now very interested cock out. 

The blush on San’s cheeks deepened at the sight. Jongin had never been one to be self-conscious about others staring; he’d spent many years of his life being washed and dressed and fretted over. There were any number of servants that could boast that they’d seen him naked at some point in his life. But there was something different in the way that San looked at him. Not the interest of a woman older than his mother that would tease him about his girth. Or boys that would look on with envy. San’s was a look of hunger, anticipation. A shudder rippled down his spine.

He felt himself be pushed forward, the vines nudging him toward San. He stumbled forward and met the mage halfway. San, knee-walking his way forward, looked up at him and had the audacity to smile. With spit and something else on his lips and smeared on his chin. His hands were on Jongin’s thighs to steady himself as he nuzzled up against Jongin’s dick.

“It’s not going to suck itself.” That got San going.

Jongin wasn’t sure what was more pleasurable; the heat wrapping around the crown of his cock as San took him into his mouth or the slight distress that appeared on the other prince’s face as he attempted to wrap his mouth around it properly. He pulled back, the tip resting against his lips as he glanced up at Jongin before trying again. The crown prince had to resist the urge to buck forward, fingers threading through the silky, sweaty strands of San’s hair. He worked slow, tried his best. It seemed that San was always trying his best with Jongin.

He cocked his head to the side as San tried going down further and froze. The tip of his dick hit the back of San’s throat; he could feel the muscle contracting as he gagged and pulled off. Jongin’s hands in hair stopped him, keeping his mouth stuffed full of cock. 

“You’ve got to do a better job than that.” Jongin pushed him further down once more, inching closer to his limit. San whined, the sound vibrating through his cock. It twitched, made San flinch as his fingers dug deeper into Jongin’s thighs.

His eyes were tearing up as he looked up to Jongin, choking again on his dick. He held the mage prince there a moment longer before allowing him to back off, sputtering. He was a mess; spit and precum trailing from his lips back to Jongin’s dick and dripping down his chin to mix with fresh tears. But he was still pretty; prettier, even. The dewy drops on his lashes, the flush of his cheeks. His lips were red as he licked them, pink tongue darting out. Jongin barely registered that Euijin had said some parting words before leaving the two of them alone, too busy crowding the other prince.

The grass was cool beneath them, but slick with fluid. Maybe from the vines or from them but Jongin didn’t care. He was much too focused on slotting himself over San, their lips meeting in a heated kiss. The soft whimpers that left the mage as they did so. San was vocal, his voice like honey in Jongin’s ears. He broke their kiss — more like a collision of lips and teeth and tongues — to mouth at the other's neck. To leave a trail of kisses on the soft skin as he went. He nipped at San’s skin, tasting both sweat and something sweet. Like a salted caramel. 

His teeth caught on the pink bud of San’s nipple, a sharp gasp sounding above him from the mage. He let his breath fan out over it a moment, before he took the flesh between his lips and sucked. An alternation between nips and suckling had San writhing beneath him. He had to hold the mage prince down, hands at his hips, to keep him still. He repeated the careful ministrations to San’s other nipple, neglected in his concentration. 

“Jongin, p-please.” San could barely get the words out, watching the crown prince with heavy-lidded eyes.

The desire to continue his teasing burned in his fingertips, but his own cock protested it. As the mage prince let loose another string of pleas, it ached and twitched and he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. Jongin drew back from San far enough to part the mage’s legs and settle himself there. His brows furrowed at the sight before him: the puffy pink hole leaking something clear and sweet-smelling. Above the distinct scent of them mixed together was the tang of something almost like a flower. He dipped a finger in the trail that leaked from San before sliding his finger back up to watch the way San’s hips jumped. When his finger pushed past the ring of muscle, the slide was easy.

“Did that mage prepare you?” He felt like the question had been punched out of him, voice a wheeze. 

San nodded, chest no longer heaving. The mage prince squirmed, rocked his hips back as if to force Jongin’s finger further inside him. He marveled at San’s frame writhing to chase the barest of pleasure, the mage’s finger dug deep into the ground beneath them. The grass had grown and tendrils of it lay across his skin like teasing fingers. Jongin slid another of his own, earning him a gasp from the mage. Just a single scissoring of his fingers and the mage threw back his head. Then —  _ “Please.” _

Jongin could have used a number of words to describe San, one leg lifted and hands snaking around himself to spread his cheeks. A single word, and Jongin found he didn’t want to let the mage wait much longer. He used the slick substance on his fingers to coat his cock before lining it up to San’s hole.

They breathed in tandem for a moment before Jongin slid home, seating himself deep in San. It was slow, excruciatingly so. One of San’s hands moved to hold onto Jongin’s bicep, as if to ground himself as his eyes fluttered shut. San was tight and hot around him; he might melt. He pulled back, then slammed in again. The mage yelped, gripped at him tighter. San rolled his hips to meet Jongin, as if to encourage him to go harder, faster.

He complied with haste. The sound of flesh smacking against flesh, the lewd squelching filled the tent. All Jongin could hear, though, were the wanton moans that left San. Surely, anyone outside might be able to hear him. The crown prince leaned forward, captured the swollen lips into another kiss to muffle the sound. He didn’t want anyone intruding on them, or to see San in such a state. No; that was for him alone. 

The burning in the pit of his stomach had grown into a roaring fire. Control snapped as he pushed the mage further into the dirt, hips snapping down harder. San’s legs wrapped around his hips, spurring him on. He groaned into the other’s mouth, thrusts erratic and rhythm soon lost. His head swam as he slowed to a near stop as he came, one last deep thrust as he released.

A trail of spit linked them as he lifted his head. Warmth pooled between them; San had come just before him. Breathless moans left him as Jongin milked his orgasm with slow pulses of his hips. San pulled him closer, as if he wanted for them to be more entwined than they already were. His smile was small, hair clinging to his face and neck as he looked up at Jongin.

Jongin returned the smile with ease. “You’re pretty.”

“Really?” San, amazingly, could look bashful — all things considered.

“Dangerously so.”

Jongin rolled off of San, the other making a noise of protest before curling into his side. A moment of silence fell as they caught their breath. Jongin glanced over at the mage. San’s eyes were shut and his breathing had slowed and softened as if he’d fallen asleep. That suspicion was soon dismissed as the mage stirred, resting his head on Jongin’s shoulder.

“Um.” Not only was he pretty, Jongin observed, but he was just short of adorable. “Would you be my partner tomorrow?”

“Do all your festival days end like this?”

“Maybe? I-if you want it to?”

Jongin pretended to think a moment, looking to the tent ceiling with furrowed brows. “Then, yes.”

San grinned, dimples puckering into existence. The mage straddled him with renewed energy, covering Jongin’s face with kisses. Maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


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